Dixon said.

"It should make quite an improvement in the odds," Reinhart agreed. He
patted the envelope, bulging in his inside pocket. "We're two days
ahead of time."

* * * * *

Margaret Duffe got up slowly from her desk. She pushed her chair
automatically back. "Let me get all this straight. You mean the bomb
is finished? Ready to go?"

Reinhart nodded impatiently. "That's what I said. The Technicians are
checking the turret locks to make sure it's properly attached. The
launching will take place in half an hour."

"Thirty minutes! Then--"

"Then the attack can begin at once. I assume the fleet is ready for
action."

"Of course. It's been ready for several days. But I can't believe the
bomb is ready so soon." Margaret Duffe moved numbly toward the door of
her office. "This is a great day, Commissioner. An old era lies behind
us. This time tomorrow Centaurus will be gone. And eventually the
colonies will be ours."

"It's been a long climb," Reinhart murmured.

"One thing. Your charge against Sherikov. It seems incredible that a
person of his caliber could ever--"

"We'll discuss that later," Reinhart interrupted coldly. He pulled the
manila envelope from his coat. "I haven't had an opportunity to feed
the additional data to the SRB machines. If you'll excuse me, I'll do
that now."

* * * * *

For a moment Margaret Duffe stood at the door. The two of them faced
each other silently, neither speaking, a faint smile on Reinhart's
thin lips, hostility in the woman's blue eyes.

"Reinhart, sometimes I think perhaps you'll go too far. And sometimes
I think you've _already_ gone too far...."

"I'll inform you of any change in the odds showing." Reinhart strode
past her, out of the office and down the hall. He headed toward the
SRB room, an intense thalamic excitement rising up inside him.

A few moments later he entered the SRB room. He made his way to the
machines. The odds 7-6 showed in the view windows. Reinhart smiled a
little. 7-6. False odds, based on incorrect information. Now they
could be removed.

Kaplan hurried over. Reinhart handed him the envelope, and moved over
to the window, gazing down at the scene below. Men and cars scurried
frantically everywhere. Officials coming and going like ants, hurrying
in all directions.

The war was on. The signal had been sent out to the warfleet that had
waited so long near Proxima Centaurus. A